


To Shine in the Darkest of Places

by speckledhound



Series: Of Pirates and Soldiers [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Games, Gen, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Kidfic, Kidlock, rainy day, sherlock can be a good and understanding friend if he tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledhound/pseuds/speckledhound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is over at Sherlock's for the weekend, and they are going to camp out in the yard! When a storm ruins their plans, Sherlock has to figure out how to improve John's mood, as well as figure out how to show his appreciation for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Shine in the Darkest of Places

“Sherlock, d’you like s’mores?” 

Sherlock looked up from his packing at the sound of John’s voice. “No. Can’t stand the way they feel in my mouth. Takes too long to swallow all of the gooey, mushy bits. Terribly dull.” He returned to taking inventory of his things. 

The cattle skull John had given him for his seventh birthday, which he had grown rather attached to and, to Mummy’s dismay, often brought to the dinner table. Check. His notebook for cataloguing and pressing different types of leaves. Check. His wooden pirate sword and captain’s outfit that Mummy had sewn for him for Halloween. Check. It was unlikely, but they could run into a raccoon and John might need protecting. 

Sherlock looked up for a moment to watch John walk out of the room, only to return a minute later with a look of content upon his face. He plopped down next to where the dark-haired boy sat on the floor overseeing his duffel bag’s contents.

“Mycroft said that once he’s done with his reading for school that he’d take us outside and help us to set up.” 

Sherlock nodded. John had come to stay at the Holmes’s estate for the weekend, and with the little blond-haired boy’s urging Mummy had agreed to let the boys take the family tent out behind the house in the extravagant gardens and stay the night out under the stars. Surprisingly, the only catch was that they had to be checked up on by Mycroft every couple of hours, especially as it got darker out. Mycroft himself had argued that letting two young boys sleep outside was unreasonable and dangerous, but even Father had brushed him off, saying it was a good experience and perfectly safe so long as they stayed inside the tent and Sherlock didn’t have any matches to try to create a fire with. 

Now they were sitting on the hardwood floor of Sherlock’s bedroom finishing up on making sure they had everything that they could possibly need in the great outdoors contained within the garden, an adventure Sherlock was not entirely excited for. He much preferred the indoors, but he could tell that John was looking forward to the promise of outdoor fun, and that he was trying very hard to get Sherlock excited, too, which he often did about things. Despite all of John’s attempts to create hype about something to try to make it seem promising, deep down the little blond boy knew that so few things could hold his unlikely friend’s interest- finding a dead animal in the attic, perhaps; solving a puzzle or figuring out which gardener was seeing the cook. 

Sherlock looked outside his window overlooking a rather beautiful part of the manor’s grounds, his eyes moving to the sky.

“John.”

John looked up from examining the cattle skull, which he had been looking at with a sort of prideful feeling, knowing he was an excellent gift-giver.

“Oh! Oh, oh no…” He had leapt to his feet and pressed his palms, nose and forehead to the window. The sky had darkened considerably since he could last recall, but not because of the hour; it was only 5 PM. It was the beginnings of a thunderstorm, and a soft drizzle was coming down on the lawn.

“Well…well we’d have a tent, wouldn’t we? We can still go out.”

“No,” said John, Sherlock noting the disappointment in his voice. “The storm’ll only get worse, there’ll probably be thunder and lightning, and I can’t imagine your mum being alright with us staying out there and tracking mud into the house.” He moved away from the window with a sigh and retreated to the floor. Sherlock observed as John sat and rested his chin on his palm. If there was one thing Sherlock was sure of, it was that he did not enjoy seeing his only friend upset. But he also knew he did not enjoy the feeling of helplessness this brought. How should he comfort John? What did other people do in situations like this? When Mummy and Father had fights and Mummy cried afterwards, Mycroft always stayed out of sight, leaving little Sherlock confused and unsure of what to do.

Sherlock opened his mouth, not knowing what to say. Luckily, Mycroft walked in and proceeded to tell them what they already knew, along with new developments.

“I trust you two have seen that, then,” he said stiffly, gesturing at the window and then crossing his arms. “Mummy said it would be for the best if you opted out of your camping plans and remain indoors, and if you found an alternative activity. If you two need assistance with anything, say, getting something you cannot reach, I am supposed to help you. I’ll be in my room if you need me.” For a moment he stood there, waiting in anticipation of perhaps a “thank-you” or a “you are quite the responsible and helpful big brother, Mycroft.” When he was met with no response he turned and left. 

“What to do, what to do…”

John watched his friend pace, his mood brightened at the sight of Sherlock caught in his high-speed though process doing that wonderful thing with his hands where he pressed them together in a prayer-like manner. 

“We could…play pirates and soldiers!” John sat on the bed swinging his legs back and forth with a grin. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and paused mid-step. “No. I am not in the mood for play; you know I rarely am anymore.”

This was unfortunately quite true. Now that he was seven, Sherlock had begun to pay attention to his Father’s grown-up conversations more and seemed to become more intelligent with each day that passed by his own doing. He even managed to outwit every single behavioral therapist Mummy sent him to in hopes of finding out why he was so unlike other children and why John was the only other child he willingly accepted as company. John was not quick-witted and clever like Sherlock was, but he had good intentions and always managed to care about everything and everyone, especially his friend. 

“Sherlock, could we please play pirates and soldiers? Don’t tell me its for kids because I know you’ve got your sword and costume packed in your bag over there. We could make a fort of sorts, too, couldn’t we?”

Sherlock looked at him and let out a sharp gasp of realization. 

“Yes!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together and nearly tripping over a small glass case of preserved moths as he did a little turn. “Perfect, John. Oh, you can be quite brilliant at times!” John glowed at the compliment. “Yes, good, a fort, a good plan.”

Sherlock realized such a thing was indeed childish, but a fort would definitley provide isolation from the rest of the house, which he rather disliked despite its extravagance. All the help barging in on him while he sung tunes he was leaning on the violin while he bathed, or while he was getting his nose into a place it did not belong. He picked up the bag he had packed and gestured at John to do the same with his own. 

“Let’s go downstairs, come on John.” John followed him out, half-dragging his own bag, which was heavier because it was filled with all of the things he had brought with the intention to stay the weekend. Mycroft stood in his doorway, chuckling to himself as he watched the boys struggle to transport their belongings down the staircase, which was quite long, consisting of four separate levels, with each break there being something of a small lounge area. He grinned as John clumsily avoided knocking over a potted fern.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. What an unlikely pair, he thought to himself. 

~ ~ ~

 

“First thing’s first, we have to build our fort.” Sherlock set his bag down with a huff.

“Right.”

They had decided that the family library would suffice as their building site because it was an incresibley large and beautiful room with bookshelf-lined walls and good amounts of natural light brought in by two door-sized windows topped with intricate mosaic glass designs. It was, without a doubt, Sherlock’s favorite room. He loved to curl up on the leather sofa and breathe in the scent of old books and have the freedom of choosing any leather-bound tome for his exploration. 

For their fort to be successful, they would need sturdy objects to serve as walls and to hold up the top and to keep all big brothers out for good. They went around collecting a number of cushions, and while John got to work setting them up, Sherlock ventured upstairs and removed his bedding. He also grabbed a few spare blankets, ignoring Mycroft’s sputters of protest when he came into his room and snatched the large comfy body pillow he liked to snuggle with sometimes.

“I believe we have ourselves a fort, good soldier.” They stepped back and admired their creation once Sherlock had added the makeshift roof of sheets. It was, by a child’s standards, an exceptional fort. Underneath the sheet-top was a nest of blankets and some of Sherlock’s old plush toys that John had insisted they add.

As they got settled, John got to talking, trying to be grown-up, Sherlock figured. He did that around him sometimes, trying to prove his intelligence. “Have you thought any more about what you’d like to be when you get older, Sherlock?”

Sherlock fumbled with the flashlight he was propping up to provide them with light. It had gotten darker outside, and rain was coming down heavy. He knew why John had brought this up; they had a class discussion about careers the other day.

“Hm? Well there is nothing terribley exciting to do out there, I expect. I’ll probably do whatever I can using my mind.”

John nodded and waited for him to return the question, but he didn’t so he spoke anyway. “I’d like to be a doctor and help people, like my father does.”

“Hm. Yes. Yes, you are rather good at that sort of thing, aren’t you? You took care of me when I was sick. Although I think you should be a soldier, you know, like in the games we play. Suits you more. Anyway, doesn’t being a doctor require…more…intelligence, John?” He lay down on the blanketed floor and began to straighten one of his curls by pulling at it, watching it coil back up when his fingers released it. 

“What?” John stood up and balled his hands into fists. “What did you say, Sherlock?”

“Huh? What, I was just-“

“No, no, no! I KNOW what you were doing. I heard what you said! Think you’re so smart, ‘cos the teachers and Mummy and Daddy tell you you’re special, and since you can figure out what I had for dinner last night! That doesn’t mean you can tell me I can’t do something, just ‘cos I’m not a freak like YOU.”

Sherlock’s heart thudded against his chest and he watched John storm off. A freak? He was a freak in John’s eyes, too? John had obviously overheard all the other boys at school talk about him, then.

He kicked at the blankets, curling up into a ball and hugging his knees to his chest. He was angry. Angry at himself for how oblivious he was to John’s feelings, and angry at John for being so affected. He was so ordinary at times. Surely he understood this. No, he might not be as clever as Sherlock was, but he was so many other things. In a world that shrouded Sherlock in darkness, John was his conductor of light. 

Eventually he got up, throwing his pirate garb over his body and propping the feathered hat upon his head. At the time it seemed like this would come of good use. Rifling through John’s things, he pulled out the camouflage shirt and army helmet. Taking these with him, he trotted off in search of his friend.

~ ~ ~

“Mycroft, have you seen John?”

The young man looked up from his writing desk and raised an eyebrow at his brother’s pirate get-up. “No. I thought he was with you. Are you two playing hide-and-go-seek? Wouldn’t it be, I don’t know, cheating if I told you anything?” He chuckled at his cleverness. Oh, he knew what the boys were up to. 

“Oh, forget it. You’re useless.” Sherlock smirked and skipped away in continuation of his search. He realized how tedious this might prove to be, as the manor had many rooms, including a roomy attic and wine cellar. 

“John?” He called out as he wandered around, close now to giving up and spending the night alone in the fort pouting. It was time to put his talents to use. He tiptoed into the kitchen because doing so made him feel sneaky. As it turned out, it wasn’t difficult at all to figure where John had gone; his shoes and coat where missing. Sherlock hurriedly pulled on his blue rain boots and matching coat and ran out the door.

“John!” He ran to where his friend was sitting under a big oak tree. John raised his head at the sound of his name, blinking away fresh tears. “I didn’t mean it, John. I didn’t mean to call you stupid. You know that, I- I can’t stop myself from saying things sometimes.” No response from John. He continued. “You’re my best friend, John. My only friend. What I meant to say was that we’re not the same, in…in some ways, but you’ve got to know that you shine so much greater than I do, you really do. I’m sorry.” 

John watched Sherlock rock back and forth with a hopeful and truly apologetic look in his eyes, the rain matting his hair down against his forehead. He knew that the apology and the other things he said were sincere, and smiled at the soldier playthings in his hands. 

“Alright, yes, well…we can’t have you crying too, can we.” He stood up and began walking back to the house, only to be caught in a tight embrace, made cold by the rain. He stood still and hugged Sherlock back. “Yes, alright…it’s fine…” 

Once they were back inside, Mrs. Holmes fussed over their rain-drenched clothing and ordered them to change into pajamas and dry off. (She also ordered that Sherlock wring out his pirate hat over the sink.) Warm and dry, they returned to their fort. 

~ ~ ~  
“Just try it,”John urged, holding out the plate of messy, homemade s’mores Mycroft had put together for them using the microwave. Sherlock eyed the gooey, chocolatey creations, reluctantly taking one to eat. 

Making his friend happy was something that had to be done for his own happiness, he had discovered. 

John giggled as Sherlock struggled to chew the treat, both of them falling into the mess of blankets in laughter. 

For awhile they created stories and played games, at least until John dozed off and Sherlock turned out all the flashlights and their fort was dark. He began to surrender to the call of sleep as well, glad that John was nearby to be his conductor of light.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading the second fic in my kidlock series, hope you enjoyed! I'm really loving writing for this AU and you can expect to see more from me involving it. This one started with the one-word prompt "s'mores" from my friend Amber and turned into a sort of camping adventure and then into something else entirely. Again, thanks for taking the time to read it.


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